Chapter 9 - The Castle of Sand
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The black wrought-iron gates of Holloway Manor swung open under the gray afternoon sky.
The estate sat on forty manicured acres overlooking the James River, its red-brick Georgian facade towering over the rolling lawns.
For two centuries, this house had been the grand monument of family pride, the seat from which Patricia looked down on the rest of the world.
Today, three white patrol cars from the County Sheriff’s Office sat parked in a neat row across the circular gravel driveway.
A large, unmarked box truck stood idling near the grand stone portico, its diesel engine rumbling in the quiet air.
I stepped out of my civilian car, wearing dark jeans, a navy blue wool sweater, and a leather jacket.
Harold Miller walked beside me, holding a clipboard with the court-ordered writ of possession.
Deputy Sheriff Thomas Barnes, a veteran who had known my father for decades, walked up and tipped his hat to me.
"Afternoon, Captain Vance," Barnes said respectfully.
"The writ has been formally served."
"They’ve been inside screaming at each other for the past three hours."
Before I could answer, the heavy double front doors of the manor flew open with a violent crash.
Derek stumbled out onto the brick porch, his face flushed red and his eyes swollen from crying and lack of sleep.
He had been released on emergency electronic monitoring two hours earlier, and an ankle bracelet flashed green on his right leg.
"You can't do this, Claire!" Derek screamed across the lawn, his voice ragged and hysterical.
"This is my ancestral home!"
"My room is here!"
"My entire life is inside this house!"
Patricia appeared behind him, her designer silk blouse rumpled, her hair disheveled, and her makeup smeared across her cheeks.
She looked twenty years older than she had beneath the chandeliers forty-eight hours ago.
"Claire, please!" Patricia cried, running down the stone steps and stopping just before the line of sheriff’s deputies.
"Your father would never have wanted this!"
"He loved this home!"
"He would never put his wife on the street!"
I walked slowly toward her, stopping five feet from the bottom of the steps.
"My father spent his final seven years trapped in the west wing of this house, listening to you plan how to spend his money," I said.
"You wouldn't even pay for a full-time physical therapist because it ate into Derek’s yacht club dues."
"You didn't care about my father, Patricia."
"You cared about the illusion this house gave you."
Derek charged down the steps, pointing a shaking finger directly at my chest.
"I'll burn this place to the ground before I let you have it!" he roared, lunging forward.
Deputy Barnes and another officer caught him instantly, twisting his arms behind his back and slamming him against the hood of the patrol car.
"You make one more threat, Holloway, and your bond is revoked right now," Barnes warned into Derek’s ear.
"You'll sit in county until your federal trial starts."
Derek whimpered, pressing his forehead against the cold metal of the police cruiser, weeping like a broken child.
Two moving supervisors walked up the steps, carrying industrial rolls of plastic wrap and empty cardboard boxes.
"Captain Vance," the lead mover asked, checking his inventory sheet.
"Where do we begin?"
I looked up at the towering brick mansion, remembering the night I had walked away from it in tears with everything I owned in a garbage bag.
"Take all personal clothing, toiletries, and family photographs belonging to Mrs. Holloway and load them into their vehicle," I instructed.
"Leave the furniture, the heirlooms, the artwork, and the historical records."
"Those were purchased by my grandfather and my father."
"They stay where they belong."
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Patricia dropped to her knees on the damp gravel driveway, clutching her face with both hands as she wept bitter, helpless tears.
The castle she had built out of cruelty and arrogance was crumbling into dust before her eyes, and there was not a single person left to save her.
